For Asgard: Loki's Tale Part 2
by wbss21
Summary: Loki relates the story of his life to Julia and Tim.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So, here it is guys! Part two of my series. This story is going to initially be taking place in Loki's past, telling the story of how he came to be in Asgard, and all of the events which led to his eventually being imprisoned under ground and chained beneath a poisonous serpant. I hope you guys enjoy, and if you have a chance, please leave me a review!**

 **For Asgard: Loki's Tale Part Two:**

 **Chapter 1:**

 _In Jotunheim he is born, near to the beginning of time, to a father named Farbuti, a Jotnar of no particular rank or known reputation, and a nameless, faceless goddess who, by all known counts, did perish in her final deed of birthing him._

 _He is small, not simply for his half Aesir nature, but by any standard, giant or god. And for his smallness, he is quickly hated._

 _Farbuti abandons him shortly after he first comes into the world, and his life in nearly extinguished quickly as it began. Only days later, starving and frozen where his father left him for dead in an endless expanse of snow-covered plain, he is found, by a modest inn keeper who, taking some form of pity on the abandoned runt, rescues him and brings him back to his tiny, two roomed keep, where already he, with his wife, rear three other children, two boys and a girl._

 _The wife wants naught to do with the runt, demanding it be cast back out into the cold to die, as it should have, but her husband convinces her they might find use for the unwanted child. That they might be able to put it to work without need for pay. Perhaps even, if the boy proves to be a good worker, they might be able to sell him later to another with greater means, looking for a dependable slave. Runts, after all, are worth less than nothing among their people, and they will find no protest in offering him so._

 _And so for a while, he lives with the inn keeper and his wife, and their three children. Though never is he allowed to mistake himself as one of them, still, he is given a name by the man, who of all them shows him some level of kindness, and it is a name he keeps, for he's never known any other. The man calls him Loki, after the great King of Utgard, and tells him it is a name to be proud of. Loki believes him, for he's no reason to doubt the word of his savior._

 _He grows, but hardly and slowly, and the two boys and their sister despise him greatly, using their already towering size over him to bully and beat him at most regularly._

 _Loki knows better than to fight back. Knows, for a long time, that even should he deign to, his strength is so much lesser than the other children, and he would only make for himself a worse situation._

 _He works hard, tasked as he is with the upkeep of the inn. Cleaning all the rooms of the modest structure, situated at the back of the keepers main dwelling. Six rooms in total. The floors, the walls, the washrooms, all their amenities, the sleeping chambers and the bed linens, the furniture and oil lamps. All these are expected, every day, to remain pristine and unblemished and refilled, all expected to remain in perfect, working order._

 _When they are not, or the keeper's wife determines Loki has somehow failed in his appointed tasks, she whips him, long and hard, until his back is naught but a bloody and torn apart mass of ruined flesh._

 _And so Loki has learned to always do all within his power to maintain the inn's good reputation. And work hard he must, for the inn's patrons are frequent, and a most rowdy lot, often inebriated when they come to take shelter after a hard nights drinking at the tavern across the way, and their manners are a thing forgotten, a room's order no matter to them at all._

 _Loki too has learned to keep mostly out of sight, for the spying of a half-god, half Jotun runt all too frequently inspires in the other giants a real violence, and too often has Loki found himself on the receiving end of vicious trouncings. So much is it viewed among the Jotnar as a kind of sport, to bat about such a hideous abomination, which in truth should have been put out of its misery the moment it first took breath._

 _For many years, this is Loki's life. He is made to sleep in the cellar of the inn keeper's home, told to keep himself scarce and speak not to the children or the patrons. Sometimes, the keeper will come down to the cellar and speak with him himself, and he is always kind. Loki even, and perhaps too often, enjoys to think of the man as a kind of friend, though he knows he shouldn't. Around his family and others, the keeper never deigns to acknowledge him, and this too Loki understands the reasons for._

 _It just wouldn't do, to be seen interacting socially with a slave. Not with any, real familiarity._

 _The keeper had made the mistake of doing so once, speaking gently and familiarly with Loki before a potential customer, and the keeper's wife had given him a tongue lashing the likes of which Loki had never seen, before seeing to it Loki himself paid the price for encouraging such behavior in her husband._

 _Neither of them had made the same mistake again._

 _And so Loki follows the rules obediently, keeping his face turned down whenever he happens to cross paths with one in the family, or one of the inn's guests._

 _There is little he can do but receive it without protest when the children or patrons decide to have their fun._

 _That is until one day, when Loki is little more than a decade old, and one of the children, the girl, this time, has him cornered, pressed up against the back wall of one of the inn's washrooms, crowding against what little space lies between them._

 _She towers over him, the crown of his head barely reaching her waist. He keeps his face turned down and away, his hands curled to nervous fists at his sides._

 _The girl particularly likes to hurt him. He suspects because he's a boy, and boys, naturally, should be stronger than girls. It amuses her, he supposes, that she is so much stronger then._

" _Ugly little runt." She sneers down at him, and it is an insult he's heard countless times before. "Why do ya still have yer hair? Any proper giant loses that after a year of livin'."_

 _Loki of course says nothing, keeping his face turned away._

 _He wouldn't know the answer anyway. He knows naught of such things. Why he looks and is so different from the other Jotnar. Why they all are so tall and powerful, where he is so small in stature and wisp-like in his build, where they are hairless, with broad, flat features, and he has a full head of flame red hair, and his own face is so delicately built, his features fine and thin._

 _His lack of response seems to do little to assuage the girl though, and soon enough, he hears her growl in frustration, before her hands are suddenly upon him, shoving him back with ease against the wall, hard enough to make his head crack against it in turn, sending the world spinning._

 _Panic surges through Loki then, dizzying fear at the prospect of pain. He's been through as much countless times, and thinks he should well be used to it by now. But still, it frightens him, the idea of being badly hurt._

 _He throws his hands up in a desperate and always pathetic attempt to protect himself against the coming blows._

 _And it happens all at once then. He doesn't even begin to comprehend how or why._

 _There is a bright building of warmth, deep within him, at his center, it seems. A surge of… of something. He finds not the words to describe it. Only he can feel it, growing ever stronger and with great rapidity, moving outward into the rest of him._

 _Until he feels the warmth and light of it held almost within the palms of his hands, tingling against his thin fingers, and in an instant, it explodes forth, flying out from him, a wash of blindingly bright light, gold and green and burning red, a sound like the roar of a wave crashing against rocks cracking through the air._

 _Loki's eyes close against it, and instinctively he ducks down, arms coming over his head._

 _For a long moment, he cowers down against the floor, uncertain and frightened, and then the silence that follows, oppressive and full, at last reaches his ears, and slowly, with wary caution, he unwinds his pitiful cover and, lifting his face, expecting entirely to be met with a fist, he blinks out across the room and sees, lying at its other end, utterly unconscious, the inn keeper's daughter, crumpled in a most undignified and motionless heap._

 _Loki's life at the inn comes swiftly to an end after that. Though he'd made plenty a fool of himself begging the keeper to retain him, terrified at the prospect of being sold off and out into a world he knows little of, it does him little good, and the next morning, he is put onto market, stood in chains upon a high up platform in the center of the town's main square, before a deafeningly loud and worked up group of potential buyers._

 _Loki is frightened beyond words, but it matters nothing to any here, and he's snatched up quickly for his low price, made so by his waifish size and rumor of his being a witch or a wizard, though Loki hardly understands what those things are or what makes any believe him to be such things._

 _He is bought by a farmer, and soon enough, he finds his life filled once more with grueling and backbreaking work. Though the farmer is less given to beating him then was the inn keeper's wife, and has no cruel hearted children for him to try and avoid, the work is enormously more difficult, and the Jotun who now owns him bestows him no excuse for his tiny size. He is expected to make himself useful and effective as any, full sized giant, and at the end of each day, when the suns have at last made their decent and he is allowed to go back to his tiny hovel situated away from the main house, at the farm's farthest out edge, Loki finds himself near crippled by his stiffness and the soreness of his muscles, able to do naught by lie on the thin matte of straw he's been given and stare blankly up at the thatched roof overhead._

 _Here, at this place, Loki lasts only a year, though in that time his hands are worked to roughed and calloused palms, and his body, while still whippet thin, grows stronger and more enduring, coiled muscle now ghosting lightly over his limbs and frame._

 _But that warmth of light which Loki had first blasted away the inn keepers daughter with, he had been soon enough to discover was a thing called_ magic _. A connection, he'd learned, through overhearing the farmer and a group of his friends speaking one day, to the life force which flowed through the Great Ash. Through Yggdrisil herself. It was a thing most rare, he'd discovered, amongst not only the Jotnar, but any being of the Nine Realms. Only few had ever possessed such a connection, such an ability to channel that energy and bend it to their will. And with his new found knowledge of what it was he felt flowing powerfully through his veins, more and more so with each passing day, he had dedicated himself to honing such skill, such talent, practicing at any spare moment he found for himself, though those moments of rest came sparingly. And so it was mostly at night, for Loki could little sleep as was. He would concentrate on feeling the energy, opening himself up to it best he could and allowing himself an awareness of it._

 _And soon, Loki would realize to both his great shock and delight, near whatever thought he could imagine, he could make into being using that flow of energy. He could create fire within the palms of his hands, concussive forces of wind, and blasts of pure, raw power which exploded forth from his hands as colorful and blinding light, which he realized must be what he'd defended himself against the inn keepers daughter with. He could create torch lights which floated through the air and lit well any darkened space, and whatever thing or creature he could picture, he could pull from thin air and make into a solid and visible being. He liked best to make butterflies, and fairies, though he'd never seen a fairy true. He liked these things best for how they would light upon his hands and shoulders and sometimes his head, and make him feel, sometimes, less alone._

 _To his sadness though, he discovered one thing he could not create, this thing being food, or water. Though most assuredly he'd tried, for how oft he found himself plagued by the pangs of hunger and thirst, the farmer who owned him seeing little need to supply him with naught but the barest minimum of sustenance._

 _Easily enough, Loki could call forth a thing which looked most exactly as any loaf of bread, or hunk of meat, or cask of water. And even did these things have about them the same feel and weight and scent, as if they were real. But upon trying to consume them, Loki found, they only melted away, the feel of the expended energy flowing back into him, into the blood of his veins, but leaving his stomach still empty and his throat still parched and dry._

 _It had been one day, when Loki had grown quite bold and confident in his newfound abilities, that he'd made the grievous error of using his magic to help him complete his chores on the farm. And hence had he discovered that, amongst the Jotnar, it was a thing considered wicked and of bad omens, a harbinger of ill tidings, a being possessed of magic, of the Great Tree's life force._

 _Quickly then, he'd once more been sold off to another farmer, for a price lower still than the last. And so it went for many years more, his stay with each, new owner seeming to last shorter and shorter a time, his reputation as a sorcerer having well begun to proceed him, made worse by his undesirable half-breed nature and diminutive size._

 _Until, at last, one day, the knowledge of his power having spread far and wide cross the land, his propensity for fighting back against the cruelties and punishments of his owners nearly as spoken of, he is, at the age of eighteen years, taken up by a cable of the King's guard, brought before the court, and sentenced to exile from the Kingdom of Utgard, cast out into the wilds of the Iron Wood._

 _It is little better than a death sentence._

 _For if the Jotnar be giants to all other beings of the Nine Realms, than the other creatures which dwell within this land be far greater in size still, and all know the dangers of wandering out into the thick treed forests alone._

 _Yet that is, on this day, how Loki thus finds himself. Abandoned and alone and most assuredly lost, after a party of the King's guard had most unceremoniously and violently tossed him away here, in the midst of all this wilderness, only a few, scant hours before dusk._

 _He is frightened. There's little use in lying to himself about that._

 _A fear made worse by the quickly plummeting temperature. Soon it will be unbearably cold, and he has no place at all to take shelter, no food nor water. No weapons but his own magic to protect himself with against the predatory packs which go at night to hunt._

 _Naught but the flimsy, rough hewn tunic on his back, a pair of equally worn thin breeches, and boots, sporting large and numerous holes along the soles and seams._

 _Well, Loki thinks grimly, there is little use in standing here, waiting for the worst to happen. He has fire, and if he can find a spot reasonably well hidden, he may survive the night, and with that, perhaps even long enough to build himself a shelter._

 _The complication of how to actually_ build _such a structure is something he'll have to worry about later._

 _And so he starts to move, begins to search for a spot enough concealed to provide some means of defense, both against the elements and the animals._

 _He looks for what must be hours, he thinks, before he finally comes upon what he deems an adequate space. Or, in the least, it will have to be adequate, as the suns have by now begun to sink low across the horizon, the sky darkening rapidly._

 _Adequate, he thinks, not ideal, as he presses back into the alcove, a hollowed out space within a wide tree trunk, just barely large enough to fit him._

 _By the time he situates himself, the light has faded near completely, and within a few minutes longer, the forest around him is black as pitch, even as the sounds of life grow cacophonous around him._

 _Calling a small fire to his hands, he is careful to keep it contained within his palms, not wishing to set the tree he's huddled into, and by extension possibly, the entire forest, ablaze. Instantly he feels the warmth the flame emits, and he can't help the wave of relief which forces his lips to lift in a feeble smile. It's his first, real success of the day, small though it may be. And this day has been so very ill fortuned._

 _He's going to have to go at daybreak and try and find food. He's used to little, and so the pangs of hunger have yet to visit upon him. But they will come, he knows. And if he hopes to be successful in building himself a shelter, he knows he'll have to maintain his strength._

 _He has no idea of how to hunt. Having grown up on farms, serving others his whole life, he'd never had an occasion or an opportunity to learn how. The trepidation this knowledge causes in him, he forces away from his mind. Such doubt will do him no good. Just as he knows his lack of carpentry skills mustn't hinder his attempts to erect a suitable and sturdy structure to shield him from the elements and the animals. He's had enough chances in his short time to observe others at such work, and he thinks he should be able to manage._

 _He wishes his magic could create constructs solid enough for living in, but he knows it cannot. Though it would feel solid to the touch, he knows it would in truth do little good in keeping the wind and rain and snow out, or hold any, true warmth within._

 _He's heard rumors of mages so powerful they can achieve such feats with ease. Gods, they say, those of the Vanir and the Aesir._

 _He wonders then if they are true._

 _Silly and idle thoughts, he thinks, for as like to not he'll never encounter any of their kind._

 _He'll be lucky to encounter another, sentient being ever again. To survive these wilds past a fortnight._

 _Loki supposes, then, he is lucky to ever have survived at all._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

 _Loki learns to survive._

 _A fortnight passes, and then another, and another, and he manages not to be eaten whole or frozen to death by the unyielding elements, though many a time did he come close to such. And, Loki knows too, the longer he is able to avoid such a grizzly fate, the greater do his chances become of ending in such a way._

 _Still, he cannot help a small amount of pride in his success, nor fancying to himself the indignation and offense the other Jotnar would take if they knew he had survived so long as he has. Doubtless they'd thought he would perish the first night he'd been given up to the Iron Wood's wilds. Loki can hardly blame them if that was their belief. He believed it likely himself._

 _Yet against such likelihood, he has prevailed, and as he rends the bark from yet another felled tree, he cannot help but smile to himself._

 _He is lonely, yes, but in truth Loki has ever been such, has never had any true friend, nor family, and so it is a state with which he is both familiar and accustomed, and he finds himself able to lose his awareness of it with the long days of hard work and labor he submits himself to._

 _Though now his dwelling nears its completion, and he knows with less to do, he will be burdened with more hours during the day with which to contemplate._

 _Still, of this too he is proud, as he allows his gaze to wander up, to the roof of his small dwelling, and thinks to himself it is a well built roof, for how it keeps the wind and rain and snow out. He knows too, for he has tested it this past night, and the dwelling kept him warm and dry in a way he hasn't been at all since being exiled from the city._

 _There is little left to do. Building shutters for the windows, and a door for the back way. Beyond that, he has only to furnish the tiny, one room building with furniture and other conveniences. Those too he'll have to carve._

 _It's a crude dwelling, he knows. Something any skilled carpenter would likely scoff at. But it's his, and it will do more to encourage his survival out here in these woods then likely anything else._

 _His attempts at hunting have been sporadic at best. He's been quelling his bouts of hunger more on what berries and nuts he could find. In the least he had an educated knowledge of what was and wasn't edible, given his years working on farms and, come spring time, he still entertains hopes of tilling a small patch of land and, in the least, growing some crops. It will be hard, he knows, for the winters here never, truly break. But he has to try._

 _He's managed to fashion a few snares for rabbits, catching them every now and then, along with other, small creatures, as well as teaching himself how to throw a spear. That, too, has been difficult. No one ever showed him any sort of proper technique, again simply imitating what he remembers observing of the warrior's who had sometimes come through the inn he'd spent the first ten years of his life living and working in._

 _Fashioning such a weapon had as well been troublesome. Creating the proper balance and weight, and shaping and sharpening a rock into the proper tip had proven far harder than Loki had at all anticipated. Still, he was getting better, as he was in all these things, and for that, too, he had hope._

 _The largest animal he'd managed to fell had been a large stag, who's pelt he'd been able to use for a cloak, at least, and who's meat had managed to last him a good, several days._

 _He wasn't particularly ashamed of the fact that he'd had to use his magic to take the animal down. The other Jotnar might sneer and deride him for such, but Loki wasn't fool enough to let a ridiculous thing like learned pride impede his chances of living._

 _Just as he hadn't been willing to let such a fleeting, intangible concept keep him from using his power to ease the work of building his dwelling. He was alone out here, with none to show him his mistakes or any, proper way. He would use what he had then._

 _Stripping the remainder of the bark from the trunk, he sets it aside, intending to cut it into pieces and begin work on carving out the back door for tomorrow._

 _Now it's time for rest, though. And to sup._

 _He'd caught another rabbit earlier, keeping it packed in the snow, and he digs it out now after lighting a small fire, setting about skinning and setting it up on his makeshift spit._

 _He'll try sleeping in his dwelling tonight, he thinks, as he sits upon the ground, watching the meat cook. It won't be completely safe yet, given the opening where the door has yet to go, and the windows. Though Loki knows, better perhaps than he knows most things, that no place is ever, truly safe. Still, it should be better than the tree trunk he's spent the last, several weeks in._

 _He'd tried searching for something better, but he'd discovered, the morning after his first night out here in the woods, that the tree trunk was in fact close by a stream of fresh water, and truly, he would be lucky to find any place more ideal than that. And so, after a cursory and half-hearted search, finding only a small cave which might serve as well, or mayhap even better, but not near so close to water, he'd settled on the trunk, and decided that night as well to build his dwelling in the same area, if he survived so long to do so._

 _He knew himself to be lucky to have made it thus far. More than once he had been attacked by wild beasts, and more than once had he barely escaped with his life, fighting the creatures off with more bluster and bluff than actual threat. They'd determined him simply more trouble than his meager size of a meal was worth, and simply trotted off to find prey easier and more substantial._

 _But Loki understood then it was only a matter of time before one of these wood's inhabitants decided he would be worth the effort to kill. It was up to him then to make himself prepared for such an occasion. He could only pray to the Norns that his little improvement in wielding his crude spear would suffice._

 _Pulling the deerskin more tightly about his shoulders, Loki breathes out into the cold, night air, watching as it forms a cloud of white, hanging lazily and silent before his face._

 _It's so quiet here, at night. During the day, the woods fill with almost a cacophony of sound, the noise of all the life which calls this place their home. But at night, it all falls dead, only the sound of the wind whipping through the trees, and the babbling of water nearby to fill the frigid air._

 _The only other noise to break the silence that of wild wolf packs, howling and yelping and snarling as they make their kills, and Loki tries to keep his mind from them, paying only enough attention to determine how close they are. They always sound far, but he knows better than to assume they are. If they were, he thinks, he would not hear them at all._

 _He knows one day he will encounter a pack of them, and on that day, likely, he will die. The wolves of Jotunheim are notorious for their strength and power. Twice so large as even the largest frost giant. Loki would have no chance against even a single one of them, let alone a pack._

 _Now though there is no sound at all. Even the wind is silent, only the crackle of Loki's small fire to keep him company._

 _This is hard. This loneliness. Friendless though he was in the city of Utgard, reviled even, still, he was surrounded by fellow beings of like make._

 _Out here, he is surrounded by naught but trees and beasts and cold._

 _He wonders then, in moments like this, how long he shall live, and how long out here, on his own._

 _He does not wish to die. But then... he wonders if one could ever truly grow familiar, accustomed even to a life alone. Truly alone. With not another soul to speak with, to find in something recognizable, something the same as you. He wonders if such a life is even possible, or if one subjected to such isolation long enough will simply go mad._

 _He supposes some day he should find out the answer, unless he should be killed before then._

 _He wonders, sometimes, which fate would be less unkind._

 _/_

 **AN: Hello again! I know it's been forever since I posted anything for this story, but here's a new chapter for anyone still interested! If you have a chance, please leave a comment, and to whoever's still around, thank you for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

 _Five hundred years pass, alone in the Iron Wood._

 _Five hundred years, and Loki survives._

 _And in those five hundred years, he has learned many things, and become many things, though always alone. Always._

 _At times, the ache of his loneliness is near strong enough to leave Loki breathless with longing, and so deeply melancholic, that for days, weeks at a time, he will not move from whatever spot he has stopped in, unable to encourage in himself a will to continue on. Though always he has pulled himself from such self-indulgent slumps and managed to start over, lucky, he knows, not to have been killed in the intervening time._

 _He has taught himself many spells, explored and honed his magic now to, he likes to believe, formidable and impressive degree. At times, even, he will amuse himself by imagining what the other Jotnar would think, how they would react, if they knew the half-breed runt they'd banished from their city all those centuries past had survived. Sometimes, even, he will cast illusions of past faces he still now recalls with so much clarity and vividness, and speak to them, and boast to them that their scheme had failed. That the little Jotun runt hadn't perished that first night, or the night after. That indeed he had gone on and on, until he had become as much a creature of the wilds as any creature who did call the Iron Wood their home._

 _Casting such illusions is, now, the only like company he keeps. How he has kept himself from forgetting voice and words entire. There are the fairy's, of course, who keep him company some spring and summer nights. But though he has long since gleaned their language, and understands the words they share between one another, rarely at all do they speak to him, though to them he speaks often._

 _He has not seen another Jotun face since the day he was banished from Utgard._

 _He thinks, very often, he shall never see such a face again. Only his own, wild reflection to stare back at him in the lands many pools of water._

 _And indeed his reflection shows him a wild thing. No man gazes back at him from still, glass surfaces, but an animal, hair long past his shoulders, reaching to his heels, kept in check only by how he braids it each day. And though his face remains smooth, unadorned, as all Jotnar remain beardless, his eyes alone speak to his life of solitude and survival, wide and bright and suspicious._

 _He does not know anymore, even were he allowed to live back among his brethren, if he could ever adjust to such a life again. Does not know even if he would wish it._

 _His being alone has become who he is. What he is. He supposes he was never meant for any life other. That the Norns sparing his life at all was more than he had ever been promised._

 _Still, he lives unendingly on the brink of death._

 _It is a struggle, constantly, to survive, whether by threat of the elements or the predators which populate the land. Loki has long since lost count the number of times he has been mauled and nearly devoured by such animals, though centuries now of practice has gifted him a better ability to defend himself against them._

 _Still, it remains that he is on his own, and still it remains that a solitary prey is a more easily acquired one._

 _His magic acts most often to protect him, and his mind, for the animals of this land are almost all faster and stronger than he. But he is not always able to prevent physical encounters, and many of the beasts have proven themselves cunningly intelligent._

 _It is the wolf packs he most fears, though. The wolves, who's intelligence runs into the realm of problem solving, who's sheer number leaves Loki at an almost insurmountable disadvantage if he should ever be caught within their circle. The wolves, who track and hunt him over leagues and leagues of distance, who he can never go unaware of._

 _The wolves, who he now runs from, breath heaving and burning in his lungs for how hard he pushes himself._

 _He'd been such a fool, he thinks dismally as he throws his arms out, shoving low hanging pine branches from out of his way, the sharp needles irritating and scratching against his skin. He'd walked right into their ambush, completely oblivious to their presence._

 _Somehow he'd managed to break away from the first to jump upon him, but it had cost him dearly, exhausted and badly injured, and by the time he'd made it again to his feet, their had been five more wolves, the level of their shoulders above his head, bearing down on him, ready to make the kill._

 _He had run, his mind too frantic to mount any sort of counter attack, pure instinct driving him on._

 _But already he can hear them at his back, already closing the small distance between them, and he knows he isn't going to make it back to his shelter in time. Not this time._

 _Still, his breath loud and harsh in his ears, the sound of snow crushing beneath his feet, it's shocking when the blow comes, the wind knocked cleanly out of him as one of the beasts crashes into his back, shoving him easily to the ground._

 _A sharp cry tears from Loki's lips, and it is all he manages before he feels the crushing strength of the wolf's teeth sink into the back of his neck, warm blood washing immediately over his skin, and he's going to die, he realizes. He's truly going to die this time._

 _He struggles, trying in vain to buck the wolf from his back, but it's already too late, the others closing in, and in an instant, two of them take hold each of his arms in their jaws, their teeth grinding down over his thin wrists, threatening to crush the bone, their sharp teeth puncturing through._

 _Loki screams as pain overwhelms him, his vision for a moment going black with agony, his head spinning, and he's hardly even aware that two wolves more have gotten hold of his legs now, dragging and tugging between them, fighting over his body already._

 _There's too many of them, they're too strong, and Loki can't get free, he can't win this. He's going to die. After half a millennium avoiding this, he's going to die, and he almost wants to laugh with the absurdity of it all._

 _He would, if he weren't so terrified._

 _The smell of copper fills the air, the agony of his skin being torn and rent apart, the wolves ripping his garments open to get nearer to their food, and at last, Loki gives in, his body falling limp, his strength spent. And soon everything begins to fade, the bright glare of the snow covered ground growing dark around him, the world beginning to vanish._

 _He must be dying, he thinks vaguely, the pain now beginning to fade with the world._

 _What happens then is as if a dream._

 _At first, Loki isn't even certain it is real, thinking rather it some conjured hallucination, a last comfort his mind gives to him in the throws of his death._

 _There is a sound which fills his ears like rushing wind, the very ground beneath him seeming to tremble, and all at once, the pressure along the back of his neck is gone, along his wrists and ankles, and the snarling of the wolves turns, abruptly, to loud and panicked whimpers._

 _And then there is the taste of magic, thick in the air around him._ Powerful _magic. Not his own. Something unlike anything he has ever felt or known. It fills his senses overwhelmingly, almost choking him with its strength, weighing him down._

 _He has barely the strength to lift his face, and as he does, his vision is blurred and without focus, tears and blood smearing whatever it is he sees before him._

 _A man, he thinks, though a man unlike any he has ever seen._

 _Tall, taller than himself by a good foot or more, though still not near so big as a true giant._

 _He is attired in near blindingly bright armor of what seems the purist gold, a prodigious beard, near golden as his armor, hiding half his face from Loki._

 _And though he cannot make of it a clear picture, Loki thinks too there is a patch, covering the man's left eye, burning bright as the rest of him._

 _And around him, power permeates the air. Fills and chokes it and presses it back. Golden and white, too brilliant to look at._

 _The wolves, Loki sees then, are backing away, their tales tucked between their legs, their eyes fixed, fearful, on the man._

" _Be gone!" The man suddenly bellows, and in his voice is his power too, seeming to Loki loud enough to shake the thick trunked trees around them in their roots._

 _And the wolves run. They turn and run with a swiftness almost too quick to catch, and then they are gone._

 _Loki cannot breathe._

 _He is overcome, dazzled and in awe and terrified of the man before him._

 _He need not have even seen such a display of power to know whoever the man is, he is more powerful than any Loki has ever known or known of, by far. Powerful enough to destroy Loki easily as one would an irksome gnat._

 _And he is looking at Loki now, turned towards him and regarding him, expressionless and intent._

 _He's going to die then, Loki thinks. This man, whoever, whatever he is, is going to kill him._

 _For a brief instant, Loki feels his fear mount, bubbling and threatening to consume him. And then..._

 _It flees, and most strange of things, he feels a kind of happy peace wash over him. He thinks, it will be better this way. It will be better. No more struggle, no more pain and loneliness and sadness which no one knows and of which none cares._

 _It will be better._

 _Only the man doesn't move, his expression still and indecipherable._

 _Seconds pass thus, until Loki at last feels enough courage to move himself, pushing himself to sitting, though he has not the audacity to yet stand, nor, he thinks, the strength. Pain comes rushing back in on him, and he has to choke down his own, agonized moans as he looks down at himself and sees the damage he's been dealt by the wolves attack. Profuse bleeding, his skin punctured clean through by their powerful teeth. Nausea turns in Loki's stomach at the sight, the taste of copper thick on his tongue._

 _He swallows thick and painful against the sudden dryness in his throat, staring back up at the man with wary and unsure eyes._

" _... Th-thank you." He stammers weakly, not knowing what else to say, still uncertain whether this being intends to end his life or not._

 _The man shifts, and Loki flinches violently back, expecting a blow._

 _None comes, and reluctantly he forces himself to look back, seeing the man now crouched down before him, looking him intently in the face._

" _You are very small." The man says suddenly, and his voice seems to have the power of a hundred voices and barely raised above a whisper._

 _Loki can only stare at him, lost and frightened._

" _Not fully a giant, I think." The man goes on, seemingly unbothered by his lack of response._

 _Loki blinks, taken aback and uncertain of how to respond._

 _The man reaches out then, so quickly Loki cannot even think to react before he has his hand pressed against his forehead, and at once Loki feels a strange, almost painfully comforting warmth spread over him as the man pours some form of magic through his being._

 _Loki grows abruptly lax and limp, a thick saliva filling his mouth. The darkness encroaches quick on his vision then, and Loki has only enough time to think "oh..." before his eyes roll back in their sockets, and the world fade completely around him._

 _/_

 _He wakes with a start, a sharp gasp slipping from his throat, and without thought, Loki bolts up from where he'd been lying, eyes wide as indescribable fear and confusion fill his insides._

 _For a moment, he has no memory of what has happened, knows nothing of where he is._

 _It is only with the passage of long, unending seconds that his vision begins at last to clear, and he becomes cognizant of the warmth of air about him, of the crackling fire just feet from where he sits, the soft furs beneath him, and pooling at his waist, a woolen covering acting as a blanket. Becomes, too, aware that he is, somehow, indoors, his eyes moving over the space and realizing, with a kind of wondrous awe, that he appears to be in some form of logged cabin, beautifully constructed and furnished fully. Desks and chairs and shelves of books adorning the space, tapestries on the walls, intricately woven and depicting brilliant, vivid imagery and scenes. Things the like of which he hasn't lain eyes on in... longer than he can readily recall._

 _He shakes his head, not entirely believing what it is he sees, thinking, for a moment, he must be dreaming, and struggling to remember the last moment of consciousness he'd had._

 _The wolves, he thinks then, terror surging through his heart at the memory. He'd walked into an ambush, had been chased down by them, had been caught..._

 _They'd been tearing him to pieces, he remembers, and with the memory, he feels the dull throb and ache of pain where their teeth had sunk into his skin, past the fat and muscle beneath, into his bones..._

 _He glances down and for the first time realizes he is stripped naked, notices the bandages wrapped with expert care and attention round his forearms and over his wrists and hands, the stain of his blood already beginning to seep through the material._

 _With trembling hands, he grasps clumsily at the covering and pulls it away, seeing his calves and ankles similarly wrapped._

 _What had happened? He can't... cannot recall, cannot think..._

 _His heart beats painfully in his chest as he struggles to understand, a wary paranoia taking hold of him as he fails, glancing about himself once more, trying desperately to find some indication._

 _His eyes land on the fire again, and he notices above it an iron pot, boiling with stew, the aroma reaching him and instantly causing his mouth to fill with saliva, his stomach squeezing in painful protest and want._

 _He hasn't eaten a proper meal in many days, he thinks then, and suddenly, without thinking on it well, he rolls to his side, trying to push past the overwhelming weakness of his limbs and make it onto his knees, frenzied hunger pushing him on._

 _He's nearly made it to the pot when he hears a door slam open at his back, and he chokes out a half strangled gasp, losing his balance and falling forward, only just barely catching himself on his bandaged hands, a sharp hiss following with the explosion of pain through them._

 _His heart stutters in pure terror as he turns, uncertain at all what he should expect, when his eyes find the man from before in the doorway, memory flooding back to him with brilliant clarity, and he remembers everything._

 _It does nothing to quell his fear, his anxiety only mounting as he remembers the man frightening the wolves off with no effort at all, of the power of his magic stifling the very air around them, of him reaching out, lying his hand against Loki's forehead, and Loki recalls how all the strength had been sapped from him in an instant, and he'd been left helpless and lax of all coordination, weak at the man's mercy before consciousness had been lost. And he finds himself now frozen where he sits, staring up at the man, his jaw slacked with paralyzing fear, certain only in the truth that, should this man choose to end his life, he very well could with no difficulty whatever._

" _Ah, you're awake." The man at once speaks, and Loki watches wordless as he steps into the cabin, closing the door softly behind him. "Good."_

 _Loki's breathes are coming quick and hard, his gaze following the man's movements as he goes about the cabin, placing a soft leather satchel down onto one of the tables and begins to remove the thick layering of his clothing, revealing an absurdly powerful, muscled frame beneath. Loki's mouth is too dry to form words, his throat constricted as his fear increases, his gaze wandering over the man's form. He must be a good foot taller than Loki himself, with hands so large and thick, just to look at them, Loki knows they would easily engulf his own were they to share each others grasp._

 _Even without the threat of the man's plainly overwhelming magical power, Loki would, he's certain, find himself on the losing end of any such altercation._

 _He swallows painfully several times, trying to rally together the courage to speak, to discover his position. If he is going to die here, he would rather just know the truth of it now._

" _... Wh-who are you?" He finally manages, his voice a croaked whisper._

 _The man seems not to hear him, continuing about his business, and Loki shrinks back, his eyes sliding to the door of the place, thoughts of escape running through his brain._

 _If he could make it to the door, mayhap he would have a chance..._

" _You possess powerful seidr." The man abruptly speaks, and Loki's eyes snap back around to him, seeing him standing there only a few feet away, staring down at him with an unreadable, placid expression._

" _... I..." Loki starts dumbly, not understanding, not knowing what to say._

 _The man moves closer, and Loki cannot help but flinch back. To his unspeakable relief, the man stops, examining him._

" _Ah..." he says, as if realizing something, and at once he's crouching down, until he is no longer looming over Loki, but nearer to the level of his gaze. "Do not be frightened." He says, and if the man's power is in his voice, there is also something strangely soothing, something reassuring in his tone. "I intend you no harm. I should think my rescuing you from that pack of snow wolves would have been proof enough of that fact."_

 _Loki can only stare back at him._

" _You are only half-giant, I see. You have god blood in you boy." The man continues. "Do you know that?"_

 _Loki blinks, and a moment later, he nods vaguely, feeling caught in a daze._

" _Very good." The man continues, seemingly satisfied. "You know not who I am, however?"_

 _Another, long pause, and Loki shakes his head weakly._

 _The man smiles at him, his piercing blue eye filled with a knowing which Loki does not understand._

" _How long since you were cast out then?" He asks._

 _Loki starts._

" _... C-cast out?" He starts confusedly._

" _From Utgard." The man continues. "They dislodged you from their city for your halfbreed nature, I assume. Doubtless the powerful magic within you did little to entice their affections either. The Jotnar are a superstitious and oft cowardly lot. It gives me no surprise to have found you thusly. Plainly you have been living in the Iron Wood for long years."_

 _Loki swallows again, numb and somehow more frightened than ever._

" _H-how do you know these things?" He forces himself to ask, struggling not to push himself to his feet and run._

 _Again, the man smiles, the expression indulgent, like a parent placating a curious child, though he looks, in truth, not much older than Loki is himself._

" _I know many things. Though one need only observe your appearance to know the harshness of your life." He says. "So, how long?"_

 _Loki's eyes suddenly sting with tears, and he fights against them, embarrassed by his weakness._

" _... Five centuries." He at last answers, shame and humiliation bubbling up from the pit of his stomach, choking his throat._

" _Remarkable." The man says. He shakes his great head, his expression sobering. "You have survived all this time on your own?"_

" _Y-yes." Loki answers brokenly, not understanding why the man asks so many questions._

" _That is cruel." The man says. "Here, you must be hungry."_

 _He stands, moving round, and Loki shrinks back once more, unable to help it. The man still has yet to tell him anything of himself, and Loki's wariness of him only grows for it._

 _He watches with pitiful attention as the man gathers up a wooden bowl, filling it with stew from the iron pot, and a moment later, handing it to Loki._

 _Loki stares at the offered food, his stomach tightening painfully. He wants badly to take it and eat it, but his uncertainty holds him._

" _You need not worry boy." The man says, holding the bowl out closer. "As before stated, I intend you no harm, and you are in dire need of sustenance."_

 _Loki licks his dried and cracked lips, the taste of his own blood washing over his tongue, and at last, he reaches out, taking the bowl with shaking hands. The smell of the stew assaults him, and suddenly he isn't thinking at all as he brings the dish to his face, drinking eagerly, greedily from it._

 _That seems to satisfy the man, and he turns, moving over to a heavy looking trunk situated in a corner of the space, opening it up. Loki barely notices, too consumed with the task of eating. The food is almost unbearably good, and within less than a minute, he's finished it off entirely, already wanting more, though he dares not make a move for it._

" _I've some garments for you." The man goes on speaking, pulling a pair of folded clothes from the trunk, turning back towards him. "The ones you were wearing were destroyed, I'm afraid. But these should do for you for now."_

 _He eyes Loki closely a moment._

" _Would you enjoy another bowl?" He asks._

 _Loki is embarrassed by how quickly he nods in agreement._

" _Very good." The man says, coming closer, placing the garments down at Loki's side and taking the bowl from his hands, filling it once more and handing it back._

 _Loki finishes it off as quickly as the first._

" _May I ask your name?" The man asks once Loki is finished. "If you have one."_

 _Loki glances up at him before looking quickly away, his face heating, though he isn't even sure why._

 _He hesitates a long moment, uncertain whether he should tell this man who he is, when he's been told nothing himself, and knowing too that there are sorcerer's powerful enough to use one's name against them, should they choose to._

 _But thus far, the man has kept to his word, and done him no harm, and, Loki thinks, were he truly intent upon such, he would have done away with him already._

" _... L-Loki." He stammers out at last, his eyes fixed to the floor. "My name is Loki."_

" _Loki." The man repeats, amusement clear. "As King Loki of Utgard."_

 _Loki's embarrassment grows, and his face turns down._

" _'Tiss a fine name. Appropriate, I think, for the power I sense in you."_

 _That takes Loki by surprise, and he looks up at the man._

 _The man smiles again._

" _Not many of the Jotnar possess magic. You are a rare exception. Rarer still for the strength of it in you."_

" _H-how do you know?" Loki asks dumbly._

" _As I said, I know many things. Like recognizes like. Doubtless you sense my own seidr well?"_

 _Loki nods, not knowing what else to say._

" _Though, I think, you have had likely no benefit of guiding nor training. You understand little how to wield the power you possess."_

 _An unexpected wave of hurt washes through Loki, and he very nearly protests the judgment before catching his tongue._

 _The man, though, seems to have read his thoughts easily, and he laughs lightly._

" _Do not take it for an insult Loki. I meant it not as such. With proper care and attention, you could doubtless be a formidable sorcerer, of that I am certain."_

 _Loki knows not what to say to that either. His magic had only ever been a source of derision and mistrust from all those around him._

" _Indeed." The man says, as though coming to some conclusion._

" _Here, cloth yourself and we will speak further. But allow me first to answer your question. I hail from Asgard, the Realm Eternal, Realm of the gods. I am Odin, All-Father, god of gods. Today we are well met, Loki of Jotunheim."_

 _/_

 **AN: Again, thank you so much to all my readers and reviewers! If you can, please leave a comment!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

 _Loki sits with his hands wrapped round the hot mug, his handling of it awkward and clumsy, so accustomed has he grown to drinking from his own hand, watching with a mingling of fear and awe the figure across from him._

 _Odin All-Father. King of the gods. God of gods._

 _Loki had heard tales of the god king, when still he existed within the confines of Utgard._

 _The other Jotnar had used to speak of Odin All-Father is hushed whispers, he remembers, the same as he now, a mixture of awe and terror lacing their voices._

 _When Loki had been but a child, Odin had then newly ascended to the throne of Asgard, the realm eternal, displaying a might and power before unseen, before unheard of. He was possessed of magic, but a magic more potent, more limitless, than any had thought possible. Even the other gods feared him, and bowed to his command without question._

 _He had formed the nine realms as they existed now. Loki knew that much. Before he had taken the throne of his world, he had weaved from the matter of the universe the seven others. Nidavallier, Niflheim, Svartalfheim, Alfheim, Vanaheim, Muspelheim, and Midgard. Had lain the seeds for the creation of the dwarfs, and the elves, and the younger gods of Vanaheim. Only Asgard and Jotunheim had preceded his rule. Only the giants and the elder gods existed before._

 _They knew him too as Odin the wanderer, for how he was said to walk among all those realms he had created, and too among Jotunheim, though those who claimed to have seen him thus were regarded only as spreading rumor and hearsay, describing the All-Father as an old man, wearing a worn cloak and carrying with him a gnarled, dull walking stick._

 _Seeing him now, truly, Loki could only believe those claims had been false all along. This was no old man. No weathered and sorry pauper. He was... he was the most magnificent being Loki had ever beheld. There was perfection upon him. A most resplendent and powerful beauty._

 _He looked as a god should._

 _Loki hadn't any understanding of why he was here. Of why the god king had saved his life and taken him in._

" _D-did..." he stammers, stopping. "did thh... thou construct this dwelling with thine own h-hands, my... my Lord?" He forces himself to finish, hoping he hasn't somehow overstepped his bounds by daring to speak without first being addressed._

 _Odin smiles, the expression once more enigmatically warm, in such sharp contrast with the strength of him._

" _In a manner of speaking." He answers lightly. "I crafted it through means of magic."_

 _Loki's eyes widen, disbelief nearly choking him._

 _It... it cannot be possible, he thinks dazedly. To actually construct a solid, tangible form from magic, something that could be touched, something imbued with all the same qualities, all the same aspects, as whatever object it mimicked._

 _And yet, he feels even now the warmth of this cabin, feels the fibers of the quilt beneath him, had felt the grain of the wooded walls and floor, the heat of the fire in the hearth._

 _More, suddenly those stories which had filled his imagination as a boy come rushing back, in all their meaning, as he finally understands. Of course the All-Father must possess magic powerful enough to form physically true constructs. How else, then, had he formed the other realms?_

" _I can see that impresses you." Odin goes on. "Yet I assure you, it is not so extraordinary. Thou doubtless has an ability the same."_

 _Loki stares back at the All-Father, incredulous and uncertain._

 _He cannot in the least tell if the King jests or speaks in seriousness._

" _You do not believe so." The All-Father at last speaks._

 _Loki nearly laughs, clamping down on the urge just barely._

" _How am I expected to?" He asks sincerely. "My power is... is naught compared with thine own."_

" _True." Odin agrees. "But you did not hear me speak to the breadth of our respective powers. Only of possibilities. Certainly, mine power is greater than thine own. And yet your power is greater than thou knowest boy. Rare is it I've felt so strong, so unyielding a magical force as I feel within you. Thou has not yet even touched the smallest portion of what runs through thy veins."_

 _Loki gapes back at him, his tongue as lead in his mouth._

 _He knows not what to say, how he is even meant to feel with such words._

 _No one... no one had ever said a single word of encouragement to him, about anything, in truth, his magic least of all. It had always been a point of derision and disgust among his people. Something to be mistrusted and scorned, as he was mistrusted and scorned._

 _And now, after half a millennia alone in the Iron Wood, he finds himself an audience to the most powerful god in all existence. Finds himself being told by that same god he has in himself a power substantial, a power which he has tapped not even the merest fraction of._

 _Again Odin smiles at him, and Loki looks away, shame burning at his cheeks for how he could have doubted this being before him of anything. Who was he to question the words of the All-Father?_

" _Loki," he says gently, and Loki sees a shadow fall over him before he feels the soft touch of a hand beneath his chin, lifting his face, and the All-Father is there, standing above him. "Thou art a remarkable young man." He goes on quietly. "Unique, I think, in all my travels. And I have been far, and seen many things."_

 _Loki's mouth feels dry, throat tight. Inexplicably, his eyes begin to sting._

 _He cannot remember when last it was he felt another touch him. Does not think one has ever touched him so gently._

" _Will you come with me?" Odin asks. "Travel as my companion?"_

 _For a long moment, words fail to come to Loki's tongue, only staring at the god King, wondering if he had somehow misheard._

" _But... but why?" He at last stammers out, confusion heavy._

" _Why not, I think." Odin says calmly, still smiling. "I find pleasure in your conversation, Loki of Utgard, Loki of the Iron Wood. And I should like to teach thee. Unfulfilled potential is a thing to make my heart heavy. I would value thy company. Unless, of course, thou hath some pressing need or purpose in staying here alone in the Iron Wood?"_

 _Memory rushes back in on Loki at the All-Father's words. The struggle of every day to only survive. The quiet and fear. The loneliness._

 _He had grown used to it being so for him. Had long since accepted thus as his life. Had imagined it would always be so for him._

 _He never allowed himself hope for anything more. Never... never imagined such a being as the one before him would enter his small and insignificant existence, would... would offer him the choice to_ go _with him. To... to be his companion... perhaps even friend._

 _It takes him less than a moment to decide, as he finds his head shaking without being truly aware, stammering out that no, he has nothing holding him. No family, no friends, no life beyond surviving from one day to another._

 _Odin seems pleased._

" _Very good." He says. "Then for tonight you will rest and recover your strength. On the morrow we go else where."_

 _/_

" _These two are my eldest sons." Odin says, pride obvious in his voice. "Baldr, my heir, and Thor, god of the storm."_

 _Loki smiles awkwardly down at the two boys, still feeling wrong footed and uncertain in how he is meant to act. He isn't at all accustomed to so much socializing, even still._

 _Odin's sons are as beautiful in their perfection as the All-Father himself, and Loki feels no surprise at that. They are young, perhaps less than two centuries, though already the younger, Thor, is massively built, nearly up to Loki's chest in height, and Loki can tell easily enough he will be a literal giant among the gods._

 _The older, Baldr, is smaller, much more slight of frame, but shockingly good looking, possessing a face without flaw, his hair the color of the sun, his eyes of the deepest, purest blue. He looks like his father most of all._

" _Well met, sons of Odin." Loki says respectfully, bowing low at the waist in greeting before dropping to one knee and holding out his arm, first to Baldr._

 _The young god looks at him with an immovable expression, making no move to take Loki's arm in greeting, and Loki kneels confused and embarrassed a moment, before bringing his arm back and straightening. He wonders with a vague dread if he's acted inappropriately somehow, and he glances at Odin for some sort of answer. But Odin is only looking at his two boys, offering Loki no sign._

 _Awkwardly, Loki turns back, reluctantly offering his arm to Thor, fearful that he will likely receive the same reception._

 _To his surprise, the younger boy smiles brightly and reaches back, clasping Loki round the forearm, giving a friendly squeeze. Even so, Loki can feel the boy's great strength._

" _Well met, Loki of Jotunheim!" Thor says cheerfully. "I understand you and my father have been on many great adventures together."_

 _Relief floods through Loki, his frame nearly sagging with it as he gives a grateful nod._

" _Indeed. Perhaps you might sometime wish to hear of them?"_

 _Thor's face lights up, and, Loki thinks, he has never seen a face more joyous and pure of heart. If Baldr is more physically perfect, Thor's face holds a clearness of good that the older boy is lacking._

" _I would love that very much!" He exclaims excitedly. "Father rarely has time to tell us stories! He is so busy!"_

" _Then you have my promise." Loki smiles in return, Thor's enthusiasm infectious. "It would be my honor."_

" _You come from Joutenheim?" Thor goes on, his eyes deeply curious, studying Loki intently. "It is a most perilous and wild land, our stories say."_

 _Again, Loki nods._

" _Aye, especially from whence your father found me, in a place called the Iron Wood. 'Tis full of great dangers at every turn."_

 _Thor's eyes widen even more, his mouth turning up in an irresistible grin._

" _Will you tell me now?!" He asks, very nearly bursting with eagerness._

 _Loki laughs._

" _Perhaps later. I believe your father still wishes to introduce me to certain others."_

" _Aye, later Thor. Not now." Odin finally speaks, and Thor's gaze slips to the floor, his golden colored skin reddening slightly with embarrassment._

" _Forgive me Father." He says shyly. "I did not mean to overstep my bounds."_

" _There isn't any need for apologies, you highness." Loki offers, unthinkingly. "You did nothing wrong."_

" _You shouldn't speak out of turn." Baldr abruptly speaks, drawing Loki's immediate attention, only to find the older boy glaring at him with obvious dislike._

 _Loki blinks, confused._

" _Pardon?" He asks._

 _Baldr sneers._

" _It isn't_ your _place to say whether my idiot brother has need to apologize to the All-Father or not."_

 _For a moment, Loki is so taken aback by the words, that he can think of nothing to say._

 _Baldr looks him up and down disdainfully._

" _You're a giant, aren't you?" He asks before Loki can find the words to reply to his previous statement. He'd thought it unduly unkind, to refer to Thor as an_ idiot _._

 _Loki glances at the younger boy a moment, seeing him still with his eyes cast down, saying nothing, the happy expression of earlier gone completely._

 _Loki's heart twists uncomfortably, but he thinks he truly would be speaking out of turn, were he to reprimand Odin's heir._

 _He looks back to Baldr, forcing a smile onto his lips, ignoring the voice in his head telling him he well and truly doesn't like this boy._

" _Aye. Half-giant, in any event." He offers instead._

 _Baldr scoffs, his lip curling._

" _Why are you so weakly built?" He continues on questioning, pressing. "All the giant's I've ever seen have been great, grizzly beasts who could hold a god whole in the palm of their hand. And yet you stand well below my father's height. Indeed, well below the heights of many of our_ women _. And your features are far too fine to be a_ giants _."_

 _Loki can feel his frame tensing with each word out of the prince's mouth, memories flooding his mind of his childhood within Utgard. How he had constantly been subjected to the same mistrustful, questioning voices, to the same manner of harassment._

 _It is a struggle not to snap back at the boy._

" _Indeed. My smallness of size, I think, could be attributed to my being half Aesir. I am not a full blooded giant. Thus why I indicated with the term_ half-giant _." He can't help adding snarkily at the end._

" _That doesn't explain why your so_ small _." Baldr goes on blithely. "If you were half-giant and half-Aesir, which I_ doubt _, than wouldn't you still be larger than the rest of us? I think you're a liar."_

 _Loki feels his face heat, anger exploding inside of his chest, and he just barely clamps down on his tongue before spitting a vicious insult at the boy._

 _He swallows thickly in place, looking away._

" _Ah, well, I am hardly one to oppose a prince's word." He forces himself to say._

" _Baldr, enough." Odin finally steps in. "Your rudeness is unbecoming of one of your station. Apologize to Loki,_ now _."_

 _The All-Father's reprimand seems, at last, to put Baldr in his place, and he bows his face, muttering out a strained apology, sounding entirely false, but Loki has no delusions that he'll receive anything better._

" _I believe you." Thor speaks up again, looking up at Loki. "I can tell you're a giant from your pointed ears and pale skin! Though your hair is red like mine! I mean, lighter, but still red!"_

 _Loki smiles, Thor's address like an instant relief from Baldr's unkindness._

" _Indeed!" He agrees. "We might even be brothers." He laughs lightly._

 _Thor grins brightly, his eyes lighting up._

" _Shut up Thor." Baldr interrupts, turning to his brother. "What would you know of it? You're a bastard, after all."_

 _Loki stares, shocked, at the awful cruelty of the older boy, unknowing how to react, and feeling his heart sink to the pit of his stomach as Thor's eyes well instantly with thick tears, turning away and wiping clumsily at them, saying nothing in return to defend himself._

" _Baldr, your behavior is unacceptable." Odin snaps, clear anger now in his voice. "Go now and clean the stables."_

 _Baldr's features twist in indignation, staring up at his father, mouth hung open._

" _But Father..." he begins to protest, and Odin cuts him short with a raised hand._

" _Do not_ argue _with me boy. Do as you are told or the punishment will be far more sever."_

 _Finally, Baldr shuts up, before turning and stamping off, presumably in the direction of the stables._

 _Loki has to swallow the laugh which threatens in his throat, though the task isn't so difficult when he looks back to Thor and sees the boy is still crying, struggling not to show it._

 _Loki bites the inside of his cheek, feeling, for a moment, helpless, before a thought strikes him._

" _You know," he begins slowly, carefully, addressing the young prince. "I knew my parent's not at all. Knew nothing of them. Not even their names. I was abandoned as a babe. Left to die. And so I remain without a name but what the man who took me in gave me. I have no distinction beyond your father showing to me some kindness."_

 _Thor turns to peek at him, his eyes red rimmed and glassy, still wiping at the tears which escape down his cheeks._

 _Loki smiles vaguely, hoping he's making a wise choice in this._

" _But you, my Lord, are a Prince of this realm. A son of Odin. You have a father who loves you deeply, and I would wager a mother who does too, whether she be the Queen or no. You are still royalty, still in line for the thrown of Asgard. You have naught to feel shame over, child. Indeed, you have every reason to be proud."_

 _Thor's smile is infectious, whatever pain he'd felt from his older brother's words seeming to melt away as he looks up at Loki._

" _I am proud!" He declares happily, dashing towards Odin and taking hold of his hand._

 _Loki laughs lightly._

" _Indeed!" He happily agrees._

 _Odin smiles indulgently down at the boy, patting him gently along the crown of his head._

" _Thor, I wish to introduce our new guest to others of our Kingdom. If you would run off and play?" The All-Father directs._

 _The boy can't help but show his disappointment, and Loki feels such an odd warmth at it. At this young and beautiful god wishing to speak with him. To be around him. To be near him._

 _Before Odin had come and found him in the Iron Wood, there had never been another who desired his presence at all. Rather derision. Abject rejection._

 _And now in so short a time, he found himself in the land of the gods, invited there by the god of gods, after months accompanying the All-Father as they traveled from realm to realm, when Loki had never before seen another land beyond that of Joutunheim. Five hundred years spent alone in the Iron Wood._

 _He had seen more these last months than he had in the first half a millennia of his life. Had been shown more kindness than he had ever known, from two beings inconceivably high above his station. Two beings who should not have even deigned to acknowledge his existence. They were kind to him._

 _Loki knows not what he has done to be looked so favorably upon by the Norns. He wishes not to question it though. Wishes not to question the fortune granted to him by these better beings than himself._

 _He is blessed, truly, he thinks._

" _Later, mayhap, I would be allowed to share with you tales of your father's and mine adventures together?" Loki addresses the young prince, and Thor's joyous face is a thing to behold, his enthused nodding encouraging Loki to look forward to the chance himself._

" _Very good then." Odin presses. "Now run and play Thor. We shall see you on the eve for sup."_

 _The boy does as he's told this time, scurrying off. Before disappearing from view, he turns again and calls back._

" _'Tiss an honor to have met you, Loki of Jotunheim!"_

 _He continues on then, vanishing from sight at last, and Loki cannot remember his heart ever feeling so full._

 _A long moment passes, before he looks up at Odin, and he cannot keep himself from smiling broadly at the King._

" _He is much as you are, my Lord Odin." He ventures to say. Odin looks down at him, his features for a moment without expression, before he gives a vague nod._

" _Aye. Thor is a good lad. He will have a power to rival mine own, one day."_

" _Without doubt." Loki agrees. "Even now it seems him capable of besting very near any grown man."_

" _He could." Odin confirms. "But his is a gentle heart. Thor wishes no harm to any. I would think him a good king but for how he shy's from necessary evil's. A king must be stout and unyielding in making choices best for his people, but which may appear unkind to the few."_

 _Loki turns away, his eyes fixing to the ground, only nodding in return. He understands the King's sentiment. He does not know how well he can agree, however. Odin had shown himself to be a kind and benevolent king, Loki thinks. He had shown no harshness or cruelty. In Thor, he saw much the same qualities. But he thinks then of Odin's other son, Baldr, and a thread of deep unease winds through the pit of his stomach. That boy had seemed unnecessarily mean spirited. Mayhap it was only his age. Children could be thoughtless and unkind, as well he knew from his own experiences among them, their taunts and jeers still as fresh in his memory as the days they had happened. But Loki sensed with Odin's heir it was perhaps deeper than mere immaturity. The boy's malice seemed too directed, too intentional to be simply a case of knowing no better._

" _You think of Baldr." Odin's voice cuts through his thoughts, as always, his ability to know the direction of Loki's mind almost unsettling in it's uncannyness._

 _Loki looks up at Odin, feeling vaguely uncertain. He wishes not to speak out of turn, or do insult to the great All-Father._

 _Odin had shown him such immense kindness and generosity. To such an extent, Loki liked to indulge himself in the thought he might even call Odin his friend. But he knew also his place, and to speak such unfavorable words regarding the King's son and heir would be well beyond the bounds of foolishness. He would not dare it._

" _The boy is cruel." Odin speaks it for him, looking away, his depth-less eye looking beyond what Loki can see. "I know not from where he received such unkindness, but it is there in him, nevertheless. Still, he is my son, and I do love him, as do all the people of Asgard. For, as I am certain you yourself saw young Loki, his is a beauty unmatched, and his power will be great. His nature, too, will be better suited to kingship than Thor's own. Beyond which, Baldr is mine only child born of legitimate birth. Only he can be king in the future."_

" _... O-of course, My Lord." Loki acquiesces, bowing his head in understanding._

" _I hope you will forgive Baldr's rudeness towards you." Odin goes on. "I will later speak with him about it."_

" _You needn't, My Lord." Loki tries, a kind of nervous energy grasping hold of his heart, and he knows not what the cause be. "Please, he... he is only a boy. I take no real offense."_

 _Odin looks down at him again, and Loki feels small. He feels, suddenly, as though perhaps he should not even be here, in this place so beyond his grasp._

 _Asgard is more beautiful than any world he has ever seen._

 _A golden hue like the brightest sun seemed to emanate from every corner, almost blinding in its radiance. The very ground seeming aglow with the power of the gods, the soil rich and bountiful. Innumerable sorts of flowers and trees blanketing every direction one happened to direct their gaze, rainbows of lush and vibrant color everywhere, and voluptuous scents filling the air, enveloping ones senses to the point of intoxication. The sky is a multitude of colors which Loki has never even seen before, and for which he would have no name to ascribe. And the people of this place he has thus far lain eyes upon... they are all of such indescribably magnificent beauty and grace. Tall, nearly all much taller than he, and lovely beyond the power of words to describe. He feels in their presence his own inadequacy. His own ugliness and impurity. He feels, among them, he does not truly belong, and he wonders suddenly why it is Odin even brought him here. He thinks Baldr, though his words were unkind, was anyway correct. The other gods of Asgard had as yet to speak to him, yet he had seen their glances upon him. They had looked at him as though he were some strange sort of animal. They knew already that he was not of their kind. He knew not how they would receive him then. Would they be kind and welcoming as Odin had been, and his son Thor? Or would they see him as Baldr had? As his own kind had. An ugly, unwanted thing?_

" _You are a good man Loki." Odin tells him. "I give thanks to you for your patience and understanding. Come then, I have another son. My eldest. Lord Tyr, who commands Asgard's armies as general. And my wife, Frejya, and many more Lords and Ladies. I wish for you to meet them all Loki. I intend, after all, for you to be among us now. To be a part of us. What say you?"_

" _It... it would be my great honor, My Lord." Loki answers weakly._

 _He says nothing of his uncertainty, or fear. He worries over making an embarrassment of himself before such perfect beings, and thusly causing embarrassment to Odin. Still he finds himself unsure of his own manners and etiquette. His isolation from civilization had lasted so long. His isolation from other people. He wishes not at all to repay Odin's kindness by making a fool of himself._

 _But his presence here is as the All-Father wishes, and Loki will not show ingratitude by refusing his simple request. He will do his utmost to be presentable, and conduct himself accordingly among his superiors._

 _Odin smiles warmly at him, seeming pleased, and at that Loki feels relief._

" _Come then." The All-Father commands. "To my hall Valhalla. Your arrival is, I think, anticipated."_


End file.
